Juicing Again?
by megmister
Summary: You can sense the anticipation in the air as she sticks her hand into the barrel, touching a few other papers before making her selection. Everybody holds their breath as she folds it open, and i am suddenly praying to everybody i possibly can that my name isn't written on the piece of paper in my untidy, scraggly handwriting.


_I wrote this story as an assessment for school when the book first came out, and recieved full marks, so i thought i would be brave and post it here to see what the public thinks :) _

_Enjoy ~_

_**Disclaimer:** _i don't own The Hunger Games

The sun shone down upon my face as I lay across the ground in the District 11 cemetery. Although I don't have any loved ones lying here, I enjoy the peace, the peace before the storm. This is my first reaping, and although I had to go with my mother and father to watch the reaping in previous years, I have a tradition going; every morning before the reaping, I come to the cemetery to enjoy the peace.

"Rue," I hear my mother call. I stayed silent, knowing I have another minute or two before I had to really get going. "Rue!" she calls again. I automatically jerk up to a sitting position, as this call was only seconds behind the last. I wonder why that is?

"RUE!" she practically screams.

"Coming!" I shout out quickly in a frisky tone. I jump to my feet and take off in the direction I'd heard her voice.

"There you are, I was looking for you," she said, sounding worried. "You're going to be late! C'mon let's get going," she said as she grasps my arm and starts pulling me home.

I take a quick glance up at her face, and I'm automatically wondering why she was worrying so much, I mean, my name is only in the barrel once, and all my younger siblings aren't eligible yet. I decide not to voice my thoughts, and redirect my attention to the ground, making sure I don't trip.

As we walk home, I glance around the village, at the drab colours, bleak expressions and brightly coloured fields. The fields are the only lively things in District 11. Being the agriculture district; we are in charge of providing the produce. The brightly coloured fields in District 11 are the only positive icons that the population has. District 11 isn't even the lowest District, that title is held by District 12, who mine in the coal mines. The sad thing is, that even though they supply the Capitol and higher Districts, such as Districts 1, 2 & 3 with electricity and heat, they don't get any of it; the majority of the electricity goes towards the mayor and the electric fence.

It's the same in District 11. Workers spend all their lives working in the fields and farms, but all the best produce goes to the Capitol.

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I take in our surroundings; the bakery that Mr Owen owns, the florist that somehow manages to stay in business, even though she only gets the sloppy seconds of the Capitol's flowers, the meat market and the misled customers that think they are eating one thing, but in reality are more likely eating the complete opposite.

It suddenly hits me like a freight train that this might be the last time I ever walk these streets. No, I think to myself, I won't get picked, I am only in the barrel once, it's my first year, it won't happen.

As we reach home, mother holds the door for me before walking in herself.

"Straight to the baths Rue, you have to be looking clean and proper for the Reaping", my mother says as she heads to the trunk we have on the floor that contains our nice clothing.

Clothing that is specifically left for the Reaping.

I head to the baths and strip my clothing off before hopping into the water my mother had previously prepared for me. I start scrubbing the dirt and grit off my skin as my mother collects my clothing. She soon joins me and sits next to the tub as she scrubs my hair.

After I am properly clean mother helps me into my skirt and blouse before taking my long thick hair back into a neat bob. I get my hair off my mother; I get all of my looks from my mother really. Her thick dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes, my mother is my inspiration in life, she provides for our family while my father goes to help package the produce every day.

She points me towards the dining table where she has set an apple, and then heads outside to fetch my siblings for their baths.

As I sit and eat my apple, I think about my past so far, how I learnt to climb trees as a young girl and how it then evolved into seeing how long I could stay quiet and hidden in the trees. So far I have lasted a day and a half before I become too hungry or too lonely without my family. I think about how mother would always brush my hair at night before bed, taking her time to get all the knot and grime out.

And all my younger siblings, and how they always looked up to me, from the moment they were born.

As I finish my apple, I stand up from my chair as my father walks in the door from work. Dressed in his dull-coloured uniform I glance at the fresh stains of blackberry juice.

"Juicing again?" I ask him meekly.

"Yes. Again" he replies tiredly as he comes toward me to place a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"You look nice" he says gruffly and looks towards my other siblings before nodding.

I hear him sigh quietly as he walks into the bathing area where mother has retreated to wash herself up.

I chat quietly to my siblings as mother and father wash-up. They are still too young to understand the games, and although they know it is a solemn day, they don't know why. They don't know why this day is dreaded by any human from any district below District 7.

As mother and father reappear cleanly dressed, they usher us out the door with solemn expressions. Mother keeps her hand on my shoulder and as we walk towards the square.

As we near the square, the only sound is the microphone being tested and the occasional sob of vicious despair or gasp of pain as each child is pricked by a needle to be officially recognised as a potential tribute in the system.

Mother takes me towards the 12 years group which is at the back, with the eldest being at the front. The people most at risk. The older you are the more entries you have put in, and most older tributes exchange entries for supplies to help their family.

As I finally reach my place mother gives me another quick goodbye before she briskly walks back to the rest of our family standing on the perimeter.

Just as she reaches her place next to father the representative of District 11 taps the microphone and starts, in a cheery voice, making her introductions. As the regular routine continues, the mayor makes his speech before the representative comes back up to the microphone.

As she makes her way back I study her odd appearance, the bright, vivid colours she wears and the way her heels clack loudly in the silence as she makes her way toward the first barrel. As she passes the microphone she snatches it out of place and takes it with her as she heads toward the barrel containing the girl's names.

"As usual, ladies first" she speaks in her nasally voice.

You can sense the anticipation in the air as she sticks her hand into the barrel, touching a few other papers before making her selection. Everybody holds their breath as she folds it open, and I am suddenly praying to everybody I possibly can that my name isn't written on the piece of paper in my untidy, scraggly handwriting.

Except it doesn't work, because the name she calls out is mine.


End file.
